


Marked

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bruises, First Time, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Sexual Content, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Morning After, Nothing explicit, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: He’s contemplating whether he has time for a quick shave when he catches a blur of movement in the looking glass, “...And here I was, beginning to wonder if you’d lost interest now that you’d finally found your way between my legs.”It’s difficult to tell how well his joke lands, considering that Geralt’s sense of humor is warped on the best of days, but he chalks it up as a tentative ‘not well’ as molten amber eyes rake over his frame and a soft voice murmurs, “You should still be in bed.”Jaskier raises an eyebrow, “In case you didn’t notice, there’s not much of a bed for me to stay in.” He sighs, “What even happened last night, anyhow? I remember the important bits－,” he hurries to amend, “but… did we really break the bed?”Geralt shakes his head, “I broke the bed.” His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes nervously flitting over every exposed inch of Jaskier’s body.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 1022





	Marked

Jaskier knows that his Witcher is not a romantic, but… he honestly wasn’t expecting to wake up in bed－well, those bits of the bed that were still standing－ _ alone _ after they’d…

He tries to sit up, only for his entire body to  _ sing _ in protest. He notices the way that one of the towering wooden bedposts is leaning slightly off-kilter just a second too late; the post collapses, bringing the velvet drape that had been drawn ‘round their bed crashing down on his belly. The impact sends  _ dozens _ of goosefeathers and little bits of straw fluttering into the air. What in the world…

Tossing the drape aside, it takes a surprising amount of effort to claw his way out of the ruined remnants of their bed. His legs are reluctant to hold his weight, his knees knocking together as he finally,  _ finally _ manages to get his feet underneath him. He wishes he could remember  _ more _ of last night, but his brain seems reluctant to process more than the pleasant ache between his thighs and the bright sting of fresh lovebites on his skin. Despite the lingering ache, he feels better rested than he has in  _ ages _ , his heart and mind light and his body pleasantly sated.

The only thing that could make him feel  _ better _ is Geralt. Speaking of which… where  _ is _ the mopey lug?

Geralt’s personal affects are still in a neat little pile over by the fire, so he knows that the Witcher could not have wandered far. Besides, he didn’t even bother to take his shirt… Jaskier  _ tsks _ , grabbing Geralt’s worn black tunic and sliding it over his shoulders as he continues to shuffle toward the washroom. The water they’d called for the night before had long-since grown cold, but Jaskier doesn’t mind－in fact, he prefers the little  _ start _ to the system that comes from splashing his face with a bit of cool water, or even, on occasion, giving himself a bit of a superficial scrub. This will serve his purposes just fine.

He’s contemplating whether he has time for a quick shave when he catches a blur of movement in the looking glass, “...And here I was, beginning to wonder if you’d lost interest now that you’d finally found your way between my legs.”

It’s difficult to tell how well his joke lands, considering that Geralt’s sense of humor is  _ warped _ on the best of days, but he chalks it up as a tentative ‘not well’ as molten amber eyes rake over his frame and a soft voice murmurs, “You should still be in bed.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, “In case you didn’t notice, there’s not much of a bed for me to stay in.” He sighs, “What even  _ happened _ last night, anyhow? I remember the important bits－,” he hurries to amend, “but… did we really  _ break the bed _ ?” 

Geralt shakes his head, “ _ I _ broke the bed.” His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes nervously flitting over every exposed inch of Jaskier’s body.

“I mean… Yes, you’re obviously quite a bit stronger than me, Geralt, but last time I checked, it takes two to tango…” cornflower blue eyes widen a bit as Geralt closes the distance between them in three tremendous strides, yanking up the hem of his tunic to reveal－

That… That is an absolutely  _ massive _ contusion. “You want to know what happened last night?  _ This _ happened. And this. And  _ this _ .” There are seven in total, each ranging in intensity, but none looking particularly  _ good _ . “I never should have－,”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. You’re not going down that path.” Jaskier hisses, “I  _ consented _ . You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t ask for or want.”

“You didn’t know what you were asking for. You couldn’t have known.” Geralt continues brokenly.

Jaskier frowns, “Alright, first off－I resent the fact that you seem to think me incapable of making my own decisions. I’m a grown-ass man; I know what I want and what I don’t.” He says, “Second, I’ve gotten worse bruises accompanying you on hunts. I’d much rather wear bruises born of pleasure－,”

“My pleasure means nothing if it means hurting you.” 

“I…” that is…  _ so _ not fair－how in the hell is he supposed to respond to that level of raw, adorable idiocy? “I never thought I’d see the day when  _ I _ got the chance to call  _ you _ an idiot.”

Once again, his humor seems to fall a bit flat, but he doesn’t mind because that’s not the point. He takes Geralt’s hand, his touch feather-light and so very, very gentle, it’s almost as though it’s not actually there. He holds Geralt’s gaze as he guides his hand to the largest of the bruises, which stretches along the pale expanse of his left thigh. A full-body shiver racks the taller man’s frame, his breath coming  _ harder _ and  _ faster _ as his fingertips come in contact with the discolored skin, but the fact that he doesn’t yank his hand away makes Jaskier smile because it means－somehow, someway－he understands.

Although the skin is sensitive and sore, Geralt’s touch does not hurt. Even as he gains a bit of confidence, pressing down tentatively on the ruined skin to check the extent of Jaskier’s injuries… Jaskier has that same, sweet little dopey smile on his face, as he lets him do as he pleases. It’s not long before, in a raw, broken voice, Geralt demands the other walk the length of the washroom. Jaskier does it gladly, some three times over, just to show Geralt that there is no hitch in his step. When he returns to stand in front of the Witcher, he hesitantly takes him into his arms, crushing him tight to his chest.

“...We should probably leave before the innkeeper takes note of the state of the bed.” Jaskier mumbles, far too enthralled by the feel of Geralt’s fingers combing through his wispy chocolate locks to truly care about the ruined bed.

“Hmm…” and then suddenly, he’s airborne, arms reflexively wrapping around the Witcher’s neck to hold himself steady as he’s hoisted up onto the washbasin so that Geralt can more easily attend to his bruises. “Would it be easier for you to ride Roach, or would the saddle irritate your bruises too terribly?”

Jaskier snorts, “You must truly be apologetic to offer me the opportunity to ride your beloved horse.”

“It’s the sensible thing to do.” He says, gently rubbing his hands over Jaskier’s thighs and refusing to meet the other’s eyes. 

“...And are we going to be riding  _ together _ ? Because the last time we tried that, I remember falling off and hitting my head on a rock hard enough to get a mild concussion. Well－I don’t remember  _ falling _ so much as you bitching about it after the fact.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth quirks into what might have been the beginnings of a smile, before he shakes his head, “I’ll walk.”

The bard frowns, “Gods, Geralt, you act like I’m dying. I hope you’re not this bad every time we make love.”

“Every…? You mean you’d want to do this again?” The earnest surprise on the other man’s face damn near breaks his heart. 

_ “Yes _ . I mean, not  _ now _ , obviously. Give a man a night to recover, at least. But come  _ tomorrow _ …” 

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, his tender touch full of one-thousand apologies and one-million promises. Jaskier savors every second of his touch, breathing the other man in as if he were oxygen capable of sustaining his lungs. The kiss breaks all too soon, but Jaskier’s chest is warm with the knowledge that it won’t be the last… The warm, fuzzy atmosphere is broken when Geralt chucks a pair of mostly clean trousers at his head and instructs him to get dressed. They’re halfway on when he realizes they’re a bit loose in the waist and thighs…  _ They belong to Geralt _ .

The pants give him the courage to blurt what’s been weighing heavy on his mind ever since he’d woken up a short while earlier. “If we’re to continue this, though… I just have one request.” Geralt turns to him, and though he does not say it, the intensity of his gaze reassures Jaskier that the Witcher would grant him anything should it prove to be within his power to do so. “I… I don’t want to wake up alone.”

Geralt’s features soften as the Witcher swallows hard and nods, “Never again.”

“Good.” The bard smiles, “Now please,  _ please _ tell me you’re planning to do something with that rat’s nest atop your head. I’ve spent so much time and effort attempting to reinvent your image… to parade about like that is practically  _ blasphemous _ －,”


End file.
